


Save Me From These Evil Deeds (Before I Get Them Done)

by Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, And Natasha doesn’t know he’s SHIELD, Angst, Breast Fucking, Breast Worship, But no actual pegging, Clint’s first time having something in his ass and he’s not sure if he’s going to like it., Comeplay, Consent is Sexy, Creampie, Cunnilingus, F/M, Feelings, Identity Porn, In that Clint doesn’t know Natasha is the Black Widow, Light BDSM, Light Femdom, Lingerie, Lipstick, Marking, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Natasha would have been on the fence, Non con tag because Clint wouldn’t have sex with her if he knew, Non consensual non sexual bondage, POV Natasha Romanov, Pretend they had the condom conversation offscreen, Shower Sex, Spoilers: he likes it, They’re bad at flirting because how do flirt?, Unsafe motorcycle habits, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, references to pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia
Summary: Natasha is free from the Red Room, but that freedom comes with a price on her head and more enemies than she can take on by herself.She decides to find and seduce the legendary mercenary Hawkeye, with him at her side she may have a fighting chance.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Save Me From These Evil Deeds (Before I Get Them Done)

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn’t going to be a Budapest story, but when I went to my random world city generator to pick a location for where Natasha seduces Clint it’s what came up, so I decided to go with it. 
> 
> Chyort: Damn  
> Solnyshko: Sunshine
> 
> Title from Fiona Apple’s Criminal.
> 
> Special thanks to J, my beta; PO-TATE-TOE. (Hmm, still not sold.)
> 
> This is a gift for a donation to my favorite charity, I hope it hits all the right buttons.

“ _C_ _hyort_!” Natasha huffs, pressing a hand to her ribs where Grigori’s knife had sliced through the layers of her parka to reach the skin beneath. The rent in the fabric is enough to let in the winter Warsaw air. She needs to get out of the cold, and soon; the blood that has soaked into the edges of the coat has started to stiffen in the freezing temperature. 

She can’t go on like this; this last time was too close. A second slower and that knife would have found its way through her ribs and proven that the Black Widow has a heart, if only long enough to tear it in two. 

She needs help, but any contacts Natasha hasn’t already burned are loyal to Petrovich and Red Room. 

And Department X isn’t the only one she has to worry about. She has a Red Notice out on her from Interpol; every intelligence agency in the world is gunning for her. Some of them, like SHIELD, quite literally— she’s seen the kill on sight orders. 

So, she needs to find a mercenary; one that she can convince, one way or another, to join forces with her. She doesn’t have any money, that had always been taken care of by her handlers and while she’s taken every job she could get since she broke free, she’s barely covering her expenses— being on the run from the most dangerous people on the planet isn’t cheap; but she can offer her half of the take of any work they do together, a promise she can secure with her body, in the field and in their bed.

So, a man then. 

Not that her charms don’t work on women, but she’s found that women can only be led around for so long; men, at some level, _want_ to be led. 

There’s Bullseye, he’s certainly deadly enough; but he would be difficult to control. 

Deadpool likewise gets discarded as too unstable. 

Taskmaster, too. 

Why are all the good independents insane on some level?

Well. Now that she’s independent, Natasha’s probably in that list, too. 

No, she wants the best, and needs someone known to work well with others. 

Which means Hawkeye. 

Not that she’s ever worked with him; all too often her Red Room missions put them opposite one another. 

Which is another reason he would be her first choice, anyone who has gone against them and not only come out alive but victorious is someone she wants on her side. 

Unfortunately, the rumors are that he retired after some job with an unknown payout about a year ago and is now living like a civilian. 

It must have been a hell of an offer, he commanded more than six figures for a typical hit. 

Then again, the man never missed; a million dollars might be worth that sort of guarantee. 

And while Natasha doesn’t have a million dollars, she’s confident she can convince him her body and her skills are assets worth far more. 

Yes, she is going to track down the Hawk and make him hers. 

He has some sort of charmed life, and right now Natasha could use a little bit of luck. 

~~~

She’s starting to think the rumors about Hawkeye were misleading. 

It took some doing but she managed to track him down the first time to a warehouse district in Shanghai, where Natasha watched him silently take down 10 Hand assassins; she can see the appeal of the arrows now. 

They used to be his signature, left at the scene as both a calling card for his clients and a ‘fuck you’ to the authorities, but this time he collects each one after it finds its target then obliterates any evidence of his weapon of choice with some deft knife work; it shows a level of maturity and discretion that will be useful when they’re on the run together.

Hawkeye disappears before she can follow him back to whatever safehouse he has but Natasha has his trail now and a better idea of what to look for. 

She sees him on three more jobs; each of the targets are ones she approves of, vile people that make even Department X look noble. 

He’s in a bar in Budapest after a job well done, drinking cheap beer and making eyes at the dartboard. 

Natasha sidles up to the bar next to him, quickly catching the eye of the bartender, as well as her mark. 

It’s late spring, just warm enough for her to be able to wear the simple black dress without a jacket. Natasha has her makeup expertly done, conveying American Tourist on the Prowl, with subtle eyeshadow to bring out the brilliant green of her irises and red lips as dark as sin, her string of pearls drawing the eye to her breasts, perfectly displayed thanks to her Fiacchi underwire. 

Her stiletto heels bring her head up almost even with his where he’s indolently slouched on his bar stool; he has a scruff of blond stubble a slightly darker shade than his tousled golden curls that speaks more to negligence than being artfully styled and she wants to know what it will feel like between her thighs. 

She hopes she doesn’t have too long to wait. 

His assessing blue eyes, sharp as the hawk’s that he is named for, give Natasha a measured once over that makes her glad she left all her weapons behind, except for one concealed knife in her purse, and then he sits up straight with a delightfully intentional flex of his muscles as his full lips curve into a smile that might have charmed her if she were an ounce more innocent than she is. 

“Hi, um, can I get a white wine spritzer, uh, ka-kaphatok, um,” she asks the bartender in perfectly accentless American English, “Fehér… uh fehérbor…”

“Fröccs,” he offers, “But what you really want is a nagy házmester. Trust me?”

She looks from him to the bartender, bites her lip fetchingly, then nods and lets him order. His Hungarian isn’t as good as hers, but then she had perfected the language along with half a dozen others by the time she was seven. 

Hawkeye gestures to the barstool next to him, “I’m Clint.”

“A fellow American,” she says with a smile; she doubts it’s his real name but they will get there eventually, so she resolves to be honest. 

Mostly. 

“Tasha,” she holds out her hand which he takes in a surprisingly firm grip, not so tight as to show any sort of dominance, but not so soft as to imply that she’s delicate. 

Natasha finds herself being charmed despite herself, “So, Clint, what brings you to Hungary?”

“Work,” ‘Clint’ shrugs and there’s that smile again, tempting her into thoughts of sunshine. Yes, sleeping with him will be no hardship, “But I’m boring, I’d rather hear about you.”

She laughs, something light and sparkling like the tall glass the bartender brings her, “I’m between things at the moment… Maybe you’d like to be between things, too?”

She licks her lip and gives him a look leaving no doubt about her meaning: her sheets, her lips, her legs.

His eyes darken as she sees the line hit its mark, “Well, my schedule is pretty flexible… and so am I.”

They flirt outrageously as they finish their drinks, neither of them in a hurry; certain as they are of their destination they can take their time getting there, and Natasha finds herself genuinely amused and turned on as the night continues.

Clint tells her about his dog back home, which appears to be true based on all the pictures on his phone he shows her of a golden mutt of some sort with one eye; there’s a girl in several of the photos, way too young for him and she has a flicker of worry, but he says Katie is like a kid sister and he seems sincere. 

Natasha tells herself that the worry was just that, all evidence to the contrary, he might be the kind of man to take advantage of someone so young and innocent and not jealousy. 

She almost believes it. 

But as good of a liar as she is, Natasha’s never been good at lying to herself. 

She doesn’t believe in innocence.

And she wants Hawkeye to be hers and hers alone.

~~~

Clint doesn’t have a helmet for his motorcycle but she doesn’t care, the added level of danger combines with the alcohol and innuendo and Natasha is looking forward to tonight’s performance more than she thought she would. 

It doesn’t hurt that the man has firm muscles with thick thighs and arms to die for. She wraps her arms around his narrow waist and clings to him as they ride, feeling his washboard abs under her fingertips and her nipples pebble against his back. Natasha rests her head between Clint’s shoulders, leaning with him in the turns, their bodies moving together with the machine like poetry. 

Clint takes her by the hand and when they get to the elevator they can’t wait any longer, their lips seeking each other out like long lost flames brought together after years of distance and pain. 

His mouth is perfect as his lips claim hers, his hands tangle in her hair; Clint’s grip isn’t controlling but neither is it gentle and even if this night doesn’t go the way Natasha has planned she can tell the sex is going to be _fantastic._

The elevator dings and they pull apart panting; more than his hard cock pressing against her stomach, the look in Clint’s eyes tells Natasha he wants this as much as she does.

Clint’s long legs eat up the distance to his door and she finds herself racing after him; Natasha’s not usually one to follow another, especially not a man, but she finds herself making an exception for him. 

It’s a modest hotel room, just a bed that’s seen better days piled with pillows and a rotary phone next to a lamp on the nightstand bathing the room in low light, really only a couple steps up from the hostel she’s been staying in but the bed is a queen and he has a shower she could live in.

She fixes her makeup, her dark red lipstick nearly gone from their long, messy kiss, and fluffs her loose shoulder length curls, her hair in disarray from the way his fingers had tangled in the vibrant red locks and the wind from the trip over from the bar. 

Natasha comes out of the bathroom after freshening up to find he’s taken off his motorcycle boots and socks but he’s still in the threadbare jeans and tight faded Henley that caress his sculpted body. 

She leans up and kisses Clint’s red stained lips with hers, his arms come around her, his large hands spread across her back and they take their time again, the long rush from the back of his motorcycle to his hotel room and the frantic kiss in the elevator tempered now as they remind themselves to take their time. 

Long, languid, _drugging_ kisses seem to go on forever, their hands exploring each other’s bodies until Natasha finds her hands full of Clint’s delightfully round ass and he has one hand deftly holding the back of her neck and the other cupping her breast, his thumb circling one hard nipple expertly.

Part of her wishes she had brought a bigger purse, one that would carry her strap on, but then, that might have frightened him off and Natasha couldn’t risk that. 

Somehow she makes herself break the kiss and in a husky voice she almost doesn’t recognize whispers, “Unzip me?”

“Oh, God, yes, please,” he replies, his voice deep with need as she exposes her back to him. Clint kisses down her naked spine, going to his knees and circling her waist with his arms as her dress pools around her black stilettos, hands splayed across her skin, the thumb of one hand at the base of her bra, the pinky of the other teasing the top of her low cut panties. 

Natasha turns to face him and he looks up at her, asking with lipstick smeared lips, “Can I taste you? I want to taste you. Please?”

There’s a curl of laughter to her voice as she says, “So polite. Yes, I’d like that.”

He kisses her belly, leaving the imprint of his lips on the softness there that belies the strength beneath, and he stays on his knees as he brings her around to stand next to the end of the bed. Clint hooks his fingers into the black lace of her panties and draws them down slowly over her sheer, black, thigh high silk stockings and then urges Natasha to sit on the bed with firm hands on her waist, his thumbs dipping down to stroke over her hip bones.

Clint drags his hands down the outside of her thighs, then calves, his calluses catching at the fine silk and causing small runs; then he lifts one ankle and kisses the delicate black strap there before lifting and kissing the other. He leaves her shoes on, returning her feet to the floor; his fingers are long enough to easily circle her ankles and he holds both of them for a moment as he looks up into her eyes. 

Clint continues to watch Natasha’s face as he kisses the inside of each knee, then alternates kisses between her thighs, his stubble catching at her stockings in interesting ways as he slides those large, warm hands up her calves to behind her knees and slowly, reverently spreads her legs, pulling her to the edge of the bed.

He uses his thumbs to spread her apart and eyes still on hers he licks his wide tongue up the center of her, his eyes flutter shut and he moans before his arms scoop beneath her legs and bringing them up over his shoulders, his mouth devouring her, his tongue flicking into her cunt and then coming up to her clit where Clint sucks and sucks and sucks.

Natasha moans and twists her fingers in his hair, pulling his face where she wants it to go, “Oh, Clint, there, there; suck my clit. Lick it. Use your tongue. Harder. Faster. Yes, yes like that. Like that like that like that.”

Her orgasm comes over her more suddenly then she’s expecting and Natasha digs her heels into his back harder than she means to but Clint rides it out, continuing to work her clit as he moans and shivers between her legs.

“Enough,” she says as she comes down, little aftershocks making her overly sensitive, “Enough, Clint,” she tugs on his hair, disheveled to start with he looks positively debauched now. 

Natasha pulls him up her body by his hair and he cages his arms around her; she brings his head down for a kiss, she’s always liked the taste of herself on her lovers’ lips. 

“That was very good,” she tells him, “What would _you_ like to do next. Anything you want, Clint.”

“Anything?” He repeats and bites his lip, his eyes darting away from her. 

She thinks he’s going to fuck her ass, which isn’t her favorite, but after the head he just gave her he deserves a reward, “Just name it.”

Clint looks at her with banked hope, already accepting her ‘no’ while begging her with his eyes to say ‘yes’, “Can I fuck your tits? Please? You have amazing tits.”

Natasha laughs, caught by surprise, and he tries to hide his disappointment but she grabs his chin and kisses him, “Yes, Clint, you may fuck my tits.”

“ _Fuck_. Thank you, Tasha.”

She could get addicted to the way he says her name.

“Do you have lube?” Natasha asks, she has a small packet in her purse but she’s interested to see how prepared he is.

They sit up together, his thighs warm where they bracket her legs and she lets him unhook her bra. She tosses the $400 scrap of lace to the side carelessly and Clint lets out a soft, “Oh,” as her breasts are bared to him, “Yes— but first, can I,” he dips his head towards her chest and she likes the way he keeps asking every step of the way, Natasha never knew consent could be so sexy. 

“Yes,” she says and moans as his lips wrap around her nipple. Natasha already knows how skilled his mouth is and Clint doesn’t disappoint her here, either; each nipple gets equal time, the one not occupying his mouth getting teased by his fingers and she says, “Touch my clit. Make me come again before you fuck my tits.”

“Oh, God,” he whispers, his breath ghosting across her wet nipple and she shivers. Clint keeps playing with her nipples with mouth and fingers and he brings his other hand between her legs, drawing his fingers through her wetness, teasing her entrance with his fingertip, raising both eyebrows in question then letting it enter her at her nod, slow strokes with first one then two fingers, curling just so and raising goosebumps up her arms, “My clit,” Natasha reminds him and he scrapes her nipple with his teeth in apology before bringing his soaking wet fingers to her clit.

Clint finds the right rhythm and pressure immediately, seldom has Natasha had such a skilled lover and she smiles, knowing that while for him this may just be a one night stand, she knows it’s a prelude to much more than that.

This time she’s prepared for the speed of her orgasm, and Natasha rides his fingers with abandon, moaning and writhing and calling his name, “Clint, Clint, Clint, so good, yes, Clint, yes, _yes!_ ”

He lifts his fingers from her clit before she has to warn him it’s too much, already learning her body so well; Clint brings his glistening fingers up to his mouth, most of her lipstick had been smeared away but there’s still hints of it and Natasha feels a curl of possessiveness around her heart. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, fellating them, and she wants to know what his lips will look like wrapped around her strap on. She takes his hand and pulls those same fingers to her own mouth, showing him what she can do.

“ _Tasha,”_ Clint moans and bends to kiss his way up her dewy chest, licking her collar bone and sucking on her pearl necklace before dipping his tongue into the hollow of her throat, “ _Tasha,”_ he kisses up the side of her neck, his stubble just to the right side of painful, to behind her ear. Deep, sucking kisses, whispering into the delicate curve of her ear in that reverent tone she loves, “ _Tasha.”_

She lets go of his fingers and grabs Clint’s hair, pulling him into another kiss, holding him in place as she catches his lower lip between her teeth and drags them off, already plump from their activities his lips become a darker pink and Natasha almost doesn’t miss the look of her lipstick on his mouth. 

“Get undressed, and get the lube,” she says, letting go of his hair and pushing gently on his chest, and Clint looks a little lost, like he had forgotten she promised to let him fuck her tits.

There’s a delightful artlessness about the way he strips off his shirt and shucks his jeans and underwear, it’s her first look of his cock and she isn’t disappointed. Clint goes over to a bag in the corner and bends down, doing great things to his ass and Natasha’s definitely fucking it the first chance she gets. 

Clint comes back and stands next to the bed, unselfconscious in his nudity but hesitant to crawl on top of her.

“Come here,” she tells him, arranging herself back on the pillows and taking his free hand, guiding him until he’s straddling her ribs. Natasha uncaps the lubricant and drizzles it between her breasts, taking a sharp breath at how cold it is, but it quickly warms up as she strokes her hand through it then wraps her fingers around Clint’s cock, jacking it a couple times before tugging him down to her skin. She takes his hands and brings them to her breasts, which he squeezes gently and then pushes together.

He begins playing with her nipples and starts thrusting, and this has always felt a little degrading when she’s done it before, but here, now, she sees the worship in his eyes and it might just become one of her favorite things. 

Natasha reaches up and gently twists his nipples with her fingertips and Clint throws his head back and moans, “ _Tasha.”_

They keep fucking this way until his thrusts start becoming a little stuttered and she gathers a little bit of the lube and precum on a fingertip and brings it around to just barely touch his hole, but instead of moaning like she expects he freezes up and looks at her wide eyed.

“Clint?” She asks, taking her finger away.

“I—,” he breaks off and won’t meet her eyes, “I’ve never…”

“No one’s ever touched you there?” Natasha asks, and Clint looks at her and bites his lip with a small shake of his head, and she knows he can see the possessive _want_ in her eyes as she asks, “Will you let me? Will you let me finger your ass, Clint?”

Still biting his lip he nods carefully.

“We don’t have to. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do, but I think you’ll enjoy it. If you don’t we can stop any time.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I— yeah. Yeah, I want to try,” he swallows, “Please.”

“Okay. Up, I want you on your hands and knees for this.”

Still looking unsure he climbs off of her and she kneels on the bed, piling the pillows on top of each other.

“Come here, sunshine,” Natasha says, pulling him into a sweet kiss, petting him gently; when some of the tension melts from his body she pulls back and rubs her thumb across his lower lip, “I’ll stop whenever you want, just say the word; even if you get on your knees and change your mind before I touch you, alright?”

Clint gives her a tentative smile, “I trust you.”

Something inside Natasha swoops at the words, leaving her unsettled; she wants to say ‘don’t’ or ‘you shouldn’t’, trust is a luxury they don’t have in their industry, but another part of her, a selfish part, wants his trust, wants it more than anything. 

Clint settles across the pillows, ass high and knees slightly spread, hands braced against the mattress. He looks uncomfortable and she strokes her fingers down his back, “Why don’t you come down on your elbows for me; I want you to relax as much as possible. This is going to feel good, I promise.”

Natasha takes one of the pillows and lets him wrap his arms around it until his chest is almost laying on the bed, his hips high. 

She takes her time to massage his ass— God, he has a great ass, Natasha can’t resist leaning down and biting it, not hard, but enough to make him jump and she laughs, “Relax, Clint, this will be fun.”

“Says the woman who isn’t about to get a finger up her ass for the first time,” he grumbles, but Natasha can hear the edge of humor in his voice and he does actually relax fully into the pillows.

She starts slow, warming the lube between her fingers and rubbing soft circles around his hole. Clint tenses up again and she brings a knuckle down to press into his prostate through his taint and he moans and after a full body stretch relaxes again.

Natasha goes back to circling his hole again and again, slowly increasing the pressure, coming back to his taint every now and then until he starts moaning and doesn’t stop, until his moans take on an edge of frustration, and he growls, “ _Tasha.”_

“Was there something you wanted, sunshine?”

“You know there is.”

“I think you need to show me.”

“Please, Tasha, ohhhh,” Natasha presses into that sweet spot just behind Clint’s balls and he moans, “Please, Tasha, more?”

“Very pretty, but that’s telling, not showing.”

“I—,” he breaks off in confusion and then whispers, “Oh,” and starts pushing his ass back.

“Very good, sunshine,” she says and pushes just the tip of her finger inside.

“O-oh,” he gasps and pushes back harder, taking in more of her finger.

“How does that feel, Clint?”

“Good… it feels good…”

“I’m going to start fucking you with my finger now,” Natasha says, deed following word and she seats her finger into him fully then pulls it back out before plunging it back in again.

“Oh, oh _fuck._ Fuck me, that feels amazing,” he says, looking at her over his shoulder. Natasha very carefully doesn’t say ‘I told you so’, but she can tell Clint sees it in her face, confirmed when he says, “Oh, shut up and fuck me like you mean it, Tasha.”

She smirks and speeds up her finger, fucking him until he’s moaning into the pillow, “More. More, Tasha, I want more.”

“Anything, Clint, anything you want,” she says leaning down to kiss the back of his neck, sucking in a mark there before pulling back and adding a second finger, letting him get used to it before asking, “Are you ready for the really fun part.”

“This is plenty fun, Tash.”

She answers with a crook of her fingers, and it’s like he’s been struck by lightning, his whole body quaking with it, “Fuckfuckfuck _FUCK!_ Wait! Wait, wait,” he repeats but she had removed her fingers as soon as he said ‘wait’ the first time. 

“Too much,” she asks with concern.

“In a, in a good way, but I want to come inside you.”

“Maybe next time then?”

His breath catches, “You want a next time?”

“Yes,” she says simply.

“Oh,” he breathes out, then sits up and turns to cup Natasha’s jaw, looking into her eyes Clint says, sincerely, “Me, too.”

“ _Clint,”_ she kisses him and he kisses her back, meeting her beat for beat until they’re both shaking with need. Natasha pushes on his shoulders, “Lie back, I want to ride you.”

“Oh, fuck, _yes,”_ Clint moans, falling back on the bed with a little bounce.

Natasha looks him up and down. God, he’s _gorgeous._

And he’s _hers_.

His skin is sun kissed golden brown with a smattering of freckles across his shoulders, his blue eyes are filled with desire and something more, some undefinable thing that she can’t name. His lips are plump and pink and Natasha can’t help but lean down and kiss him again.

Clint moans, brushing her hair out of her face, kissing back. She kisses up his scruffy jaw and takes his earlobe between her teeth, biting it gently, he moans again and she traces the shell of his ear with her tongue before moving on and kissing behind his ear.

Natasha rubs her body against his like a cat as she kisses and sucks on his neck, leaving a string of love bites, high above his collar for the world to see. She continues down to his collarbone and worries at it with her teeth.

“I’m sorry, I’m leaving marks all over the place,” she says, not sorry at all.

Clint smirks and raises an eyebrow, “Well then, turnabout’s fair play.”

Natasha tilts back in invitation, baring her throat to him only to feel startled after the fact at making herself so vulnerable.

Once again Clint defies her expectations, lifting her wrist and placing his lips at the base of her thumb, where she’ll have to wear gloves if she wants to hide it. Clint keeps his eyes on her and it’s all the more erotic that he isn’t kissing her for pleasure but instead staking a claim, making a declaration not only that she’s his, but that he belongs to her.

“Clint,” Natasha whispers, just needing to say his name. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t his real name; Natasha knows better than most that names are just illusions, faces to put on and take off. But here, neither of them are hiding behind the safety of their names, she isn’t the Black Widow and he isn’t Hawkeye, they’re just Tasha and Clint. The names they’d so carelessly tossed at one another, neither able to predict what was to come, have become infinitely precious to her, “ _Clint.”_

She cups Clint’s cheek when he finishes with a chaste kiss to the mark, scratching her nails on his stubble, then pushing him back down into the bed, “Stay.”

He grins at her with bad intent, challenging her with his eyes even as he settles into the bed, stretching out his arms, linking his fingers and resting his hands under his head as if settling in for a long relaxing nap. 

She would think of a way to punish him for that look but the way he’s laid himself out for her does magnificent things for his arms and leaves the whole expanse of his body vulnerable to her so she forgives him before the thought even begins to form. 

Natasha sits back on his thighs, enjoying the stretch as they spread her legs wide, squeezing them with her own, letting Clint feel how powerful she is. Not letting herself get distracted by his mouth again is an epic struggle, he has a face that makes her want to write poetry— or at least a dirty limerick. 

Forcing her eyes downward is less of a hardship than she thought it would be, because as much as Natasha loves his stupidly handsome face his body is the true work of art. 

She starts kneading Clint’s shoulders and then strokes down to his pecs, palming and squeezing them until he moans and she rewards him by lightly pinching at his nipples.

“Ta-asha. Please. You’re killing me.”

“Not yet, I’m not,” she says with a knowing grin; as much as she wants to worship, is planning on worshiping his body, it will be nothing compared to how it will feel once he’s inside her. 

God, she really must be going crazy, she’s never felt anything even close to what she feels when Clint looks at her like that, all filled with hope and lust and trust.

“Oh, Clint, the things I’m going to do with you; I’m going to take care of you just the way you deserve,” and she knows her eyes are reflections of his; she’s his mirror and he’s hers. Natasha feels a bond between them, deeper, _truer_ than any vow of duty, of honor, of loyalty. 

She would kill for him. 

She would die for him. 

She would _live_ for him. 

This isn’t lust and it isn’t love, it’s something too all encompassing for such trivial words and she can see he feels the same way.

Natasha bends down and takes Clint’s nipple into her mouth, adding pressure until she feels his cock jump against her stomach, then uses that as her guide in biting back and forth between his nipples until he’s a twitching, shivering mess. Clint’s precum has pooled on his stomach and Natasha licks her way down his abs, running her tongue over every crest and furrow, dipping her tongue into his navel and then licking the top of his cock, tonguing the slit and then holding his cock out of the way as she laps up the mess. 

Natasha comes back up and brings her mouth even with his. She raises her eyebrow in challenge but she needn’t have bothered as Clint strains upwards, leaving his hands pressed into the bed as he lifts his head and she meets him the rest of the way and gives him a taste of himself. He’s humming in pleasure when Natasha breaks the kiss and tells him, “I want you to eat me out as soon as you come inside me.”

“Fuck-fuck!” Clint cries out, hips thrusting up under her, “Tasha, please, please hurry, I can’t wait, please.”

Natasha reaches between her legs and gathers some of her slick, wrapping her hand around his cock and jacking it a couple times but it’s not enough so she brings her mouth down and swallows around Clint, sucking as she swirls her tongue, getting him nice and wet and this time when she starts stroking him it’s a smooth glide and she laughs as he rolls his eyes back comically, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Don’t fall apart yet, sunshine. Put your hands on my hips.”

Clint is quick to obey, resting his fingers against her skin, his thumbs stroking her hip bones like they had before taking her panties off a lifetime ago.

Natasha braces a hand against his abs, feeling them ripple under her fingers as Clint clinches his stomach, fighting the urge to come when she uses her other hand to press the tip of his cock inside her and then sinking ever so slowly down until she can go no further.

She gives him a bit to catch his breath and then, still a little breathless herself, asks, “Ready?”

Clint nods, “Please.”

Natasha shifts until she’s able to put both hands a little higher, pressing down on his ribs. She asks him with her eyes if he’s okay and Clint nods again, so she stops holding back and rides him just the way she wants to, taking her pleasure from him as his hips rise up to meet her, giving him as much as she takes.

“Oh, God,” he says; his fingers squeeze tightly enough that she knows she’s going to have fingerprint shaped bruises and Natasha loves that she’s made him lose control like this; he’s been so careful of his strength that she had been wondering, not exactly idly, what it would take. 

She digs her nails into his chest, “That’s it, Clint; come on, sunshine, fuck me, fuck me like you mean it.”

Clint practically snarls as he flips them, surprising her, and it’s the first time he hasn’t asked first, taking what he wants and demanding her surrender; he slips one arm under Natasha’s leg and brings it up high, spreading her open for him as he fucks her hard and fast; she wraps her other leg around his, the sharp point of her heel digging into his calf.

Natasha wraps her arms around his neck and bites her passion into his lips, “Yes! Fuck, yes, Clint; take me, take everything, fuck, I’m going to come again, just from this, just from you fucking m— OH!” She comes with a punched out shout, throwing her head back as it rockets through her; she feels her cunt tightening and flutter around the hot hard length of his cock, “I’m— come with me, Clint, come with me!”

She feels Clint spill inside her as he cries out, “ _Tasha!_ ” 

She hardly knows what’s happening as Clint pulls away from her but then his head is between her legs and he’s eating her out just like she told him to, with more enthusiasm than she expected. Clint sucks his come from out of her before latching on to her clit and Natasha rides her aftershocks up into another orgasm, and then another, and she realizes he isn’t going to stop until she makes him stop.

“Clint! Clint come back to me, I need you,” she says, pulling on his hair.

Clint lifts his head and looks at her with a dazed expression before deliberately pulling against her hold to give her pussy one last long lick. He places sticky kisses up her abdomen and sucks a mark on the top of one breast before kissing her properly.

Natasha can taste both of them on his lips, on his tongue, and she moans as he settles back in between her stocking clad legs, the sheer silk shot through with fine runs from his rough hands and face; she wraps her legs around him and feels his soft cock twitch against her pussy, slick with their come and his spit.

She reaches over and flicks off the light, they twist together until he’s laying half across her, one arm around her waist and his lips pressed to the side of her neck; in a bit she’ll want to clean up, but for once in Natasha’s life she wants to cuddle and she’s planning on enjoying it. 

“Let’s nap a bit, then round two in the shower?”

“God, I love— the way you think,” he says, then sighs a kiss against her throat, “I’m so lucky I found you.”

She feels an odd mix of guilt and pride. She has to tell him, before this goes any deeper.

“Clint,” she says, and something in her tone must warn him because she feels him tense up and she calls herself a coward when she says, “Rest. I have big plans for you.”

It must be the right thing to say because he takes a breath and then the tension slips out of him.

City lights and the sound of evening traffic filter up through the window, painting the room in shadow and quiet. She pets his hair as she feels him drift off and she feels his lassitude seep into her like a warm summer day and half asleep she murmurs, “ _Solnyshko.”_

Before Natasha knows what’s happening he’s on top of her, pinning her arms at her sides with his knees, one hand around her throat, and the other twisting in her hair, pulling her head back. Clint snarls, with more malice then she thought humanly possible, “Who are you?! Who sent you?”

“It’s not like that—urk,” Natasha struggles as he chokes her; she puts her feet on the mattress and pushes but he has too much leverage on her, she tries to beg him with her eyes but there’s no quarter to be found there— this isn’t Clint with his hand around her throat, it’s Hawkeye.

Natasha sees spots in front of her eyes before he eases off the pressure, saying again, just as darkly, “Who are you? Who sent you?”

“Please! I’m not—hhk,” Hawkeye squeezes again and she whimpers, fuck, he’s going to kill her, he’s going to kill her before she can explain; Natasha feels tears leak from the sides of her eyes.

“Last chance,” he says, deadly serious, “Who are you; who sent you?” 

Hawkeye gives her just enough air to speak, “Black Widow—,” Natasha sees fear and loathing in his eyes, nearly as dark as the shadows that surround them. Hawkeye tightens his hold and she feels a measure of despair, not that she’s going to die, but that he will never know that what happened between them was real; was the realest thing she’s ever had in her life, and that Clint gave that to her.

She has one chance and it’s slim odds that Hawkeye will fall for it but she lets her eyes flutter shut and wills her heart rate down, praying to a God she doesn’t believe that it works, that Natasha can convince him she’s lost consciousness.

“Damn it, Barton, you fucking idiot.”

Hawkeye cuts off her breath for a couple more minutes and she knows she won’t be able to keep from fighting much longer when he lets go until only two fingers are at her pulse point and she hopes she’s made herself weak enough to fool him. 

Not weak enough, as his hand comes back down, but it’s the distraction Natasha needed, not to try and fight back, but to roll out from under him and off the bed onto the floor and then into a ready crouch.

“Clint, I can explain,” she rasps out.

“Explain?” Hawkeye sneers as he stalks out of the bed towards her, naked and magnificent in his fury, “You can explain? My God, you really live up to your reputation, don’t you?”

Hawkeye attacks without any warning and it’s all Natasha can do to stay on the defensive, redirecting killing blows into bruises, keeping her distance; if he gets his hands on her again it really will be over. 

“Please, Clint. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hawkeye laughs without an ounce of humor, “A little late for that, _Tasha.”_

It kills her, hearing him say her name in that cold, disgusted voice.

Natasha has to stop him, she has to make Clint see this wasn’t a job, that what’s between them is more than either of them could have dreamed of, that it’s something worth saving.

That she can be something worth saving. 

Natasha goes on the offense wishing she had taken off her stilettos, it would be easier to fight without them on, but she’s always been good at making do with what she has.

With his next lunge at her instead of countering him and dancing away Natasha leaps into Hawkeye until she’s up with her thighs wrapped around his neck and her ankles locked together. 

Hawkeye beats and claws at her legs until her stockings are in shreds but she keeps up the pressure like a vise as she rides his shoulders. He slams her back into the wall, knocking her breath out of her but Natasha just tightens her grip and tries to beat his hands away as they reach for her eyes, her throat, strangling her with her necklace until the string snaps, a scattering of pearls flying as he throws it aside.

“I’m sorry, Clint, I’m sorry. Shhhh, I’m going to fix this, you’ll see. Please, let me fix this.” 

Hawkeye’s clawing gets weaker, as do the body slams against the wall, as she continues to shush him, willing him to unconsciousness as she cries for them, until he falls to his knees; a strangled, pleading, “ _Tasha,”_ falling from his lips as he slips the rest of the way to the floor. 

Natasha gives it a few more minutes, more cautious than he was with her, and rolls away into a crouch where she watches Clint long enough to be sure he’s unconscious.

She makes quick work of the top sheet, using the small blade concealed in the bottom of her lipstick to help tear it into strips. Natasha binds Clint’s arms and legs and then ties the remaining lengths together and loops them under the mattress. 

Natasha manages to drag his solid weight up onto the bed, checking him again for any signs of consciousness before retying him spread eagle in such a way that he has no access to the knots. 

She unbuckles her shoes and peels off her ruined stockings before curling up next to him, pillowing her head on his shoulder and stroking his chest and stomach as she tries to come up with a plan. 

This wasn’t how Natasha was planning on telling him, she was going to give them a couple days, then tell him in a public location, somewhere less likely for them to cause a scene, somewhere he might be willing to sit and listen to her. 

She belongs to him now, heart and soul, and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he rejects her. 

Natasha senses his confusion as he regains consciousness, a quiet, “Wha—,” followed by an intense struggle. 

She tries petting him as she croons, “Shhhh, shhh, Clint, it’s okay; it’s okay, I’ve got you; I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Eventually Clint settles down, eyeing her warily, “I won’t turn on SHIELD; you’re wasting your time. You may as well kill me now.”

“I’m not— SHIELD?” Natasha’s brow furrows in confusion as she looks down at him, “What do you mean SHIELD?”

He snorts a laugh, “Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?”

“You… you work for SHIELD?”

He rolls his eyes, “As if you didn’t know.”

“I— Clint, look at me,” she takes his stubborn chin and tilts his face towards her, “I didn’t know you were SHIELD. I’m not here to kill you, I want your help.”

He sneers, “You’ve got a funny way of asking, lady.”

“Tell me you don’t feel it, too,” she says, leaning into him one hand over his heart and stroking his rough jawline with her thumb, “Tell me tonight didn’t mean anything to you and I’ll walk away but don’t lie to me, I couldn’t bare it if you lied to me.”

She looks from his lips to his eyes, “I swear on my life, this is real. What I feel for you is real.”

“Tasha?” Clint whispers, heartache and hope clashing in his eyes, and she feels a sense of devastation as she sees heartache win, a broken, “No,” spilling from his lips, “This— this is what you do. Who you are. And I’m supposed to. Fuck. I can’t kill you, Tasha. I should, but I can’t so you may as well as kill me now.”

“Run away with me.”

“What?”

“Leave SHIELD. Run away with me. We can be partners. No Red Room, no SHIELD, no handlers. No one telling us where to go or who to kill, just us, making our own decisions, doing things our way.”

“You— you mean it, don’t you?” Clint says, hope rising in his eyes like a phoenix from the ashes.

Natasha nods and after a glance down to his lips and back to his eyes she kisses him softly. 

Clint kisses her back and she feels a flare of triumph, until he breaks the kiss and says, “Come in with me, then.”

“What?” Natasha asks with a sinking feeling.

“Join SHIELD.”

“You— you can’t be serious. Clint, they want me dead. Or worse.”

“You want me to trust you? Then you need to trust me. Coulson, my handler, he’s a good man. He’ll back my play. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Try. For me. If it doesn’t work then we’ll go on the run together.”

“Promise me one thing, first.”

His blue eyes are wary as he waits for her to continue. 

“Whatever happens, whatever the future holds, no more lies between us. Ever.”

Clint watches Natasha’s eyes, and he must find what he’s looking for, because he swallows and nods, “I promise.”

Natasha kisses him and takes a final leap of faith, her heart in her throat as she reaches over and unties his wrist; her faith rewarded when Clint wraps his arm around her back and pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. He makes an aborted sound of distress when he tries to bring his other arm around her and is caught short.

“Let me finish untying you,” Natasha says, pulling away from him. Clint rains soft kisses down her neck and across her shoulders as she leans over and unties his other wrist, and then he’s pulling her fully into his lap, one hand solid at her back the other tangled in her hair as he kisses her like a dying man that’s found an oasis in the desert. 

When they finally come up for air he’s hard between her legs and it would take just a shift of her hips for him to be inside her, but she wants a clean start. 

A fresh start.

“Shower?” Natasha asks as she strokes up and down his arms, her hands feeling tiny and delicate against his biceps. 

Clint bites at her lip and smiles, “One of us is still tied to the bed; so I guess we’re not going anywhere.”

Natasha rubs her thumb over his mouth, “Wait here.”

He nips after her thumb but she’s already bending over backwards until she’s flat on her back then stretches down to untie his ankles. As soon as he’s free Clint grabs her by the arms and pulls her to him. Natasha changes her mind about waiting until after they’re clean, she can’t wait, she needs him now. 

She angles her hips just right and his cock slides into her warmth like it was made for her. Clint lets out a strangled, “ _Fuck! Tasha.”_

He swings his legs around and braces his feet on the floor, grabbing Natasha’s hips, fucking into her over and over again where she’s kneeling, straddling his legs.

“Clint, Clint, please,” he reaches between her legs and finds her clit with unerring precision and it’s perfect, it’s _perfect,_ and she comes around him again for the how ever many-th time— she’s lost count. 

Natasha kisses him as she comes down and says, “Shower.”

He stands up, lifting her like she’s nothing, or maybe everything, staying inside of her as he carries her into the bathroom. Clint keeps fucking her as they reach the shower and he turns it on, letting it heat up. 

“Come here, I want you to see what I see,” he says, helping Natasha to stand and turn until she’s facing the mirror; Clint kisses the back of her neck and places her hands on the counter, she looks in his reflection's eyes.

“Watch your face,” Clint says, directing her with a callused finger on her chin and Natasha does, so she sees the way her mouth goes slack and her eyes go wide and dark as he enters her, and there’s something else there, something intangible, that same something she sees in his eyes.

“ _Clint,”_ she moans and it’s too much, it’s overwhelming enough to see it on his face, seeing it on her own is more than she can bear and she turns away, her eyes fluttering shut.

“ _No_ ,” he growls, cupping her jaw gently in sharp contrast to the harshness of his voice and he tilts her face back to the mirror as he keeps thrusting into her, “Watch it all. Take it all. _Feel_ it all.”

“Clint! Clint, I can’t,” Natasha says, looking up into his eyes, and had she thought it easier to see it on his face instead of hers? She was wrong, it’s like staring into the sun.

“You can. You will. Please, Tash, for me,” he begs, eyes full of need, “Show me you know this is real.”

She blinks away her tears, takes a deep breath, and looks into her own eyes, crying out as he rewards her with rough fingers on her clit, his other hand keeping her eyes on her face, “Come for me, Tasha, come around my cock, feel me inside you when you come, feel everything.”

Her makeup is smeared around her eyes, drawing dark tear drops down her face but her eyes, her eyes are so bright, she’s ever seen them this green, this clear, and he’s ruined her, ruined her in all the best ways, ways she never dreamed possible, and she comes for him; she would have thought she’d be worn out by now but this is the strongest one yet and she sobs as she watches him take her apart, “ _Clint!”_

Natasha’s vision blanks out for a second and when she’s aware again she’s white knuckling the edge of the counter, her head hanging between her shoulders and she’s panting. Clint is still hard inside her and his broad hands are rubbing across her shoulders and up and down her arms as he whispers, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, Tash, I’m here, I’m yours,” saying everything she needs to hear.

“Clint,” she moans and turns, letting him slip out of her with a small gasp. Natasha takes his face between her hands and kisses him, trying to fill it with all the things she’s not brave enough to say. She takes Clint’s hand and saunters back into the shower, drawing him in after her, “Let’s get you cleaned up, _solnyshko_ ,” she says, letting him see all of her.

She takes a washcloth and some of the shower gel, it’s his own, a travel sized three-in-one monstrosity, but Natasha likes the idea of smelling like him. 

She lets the water pour over her face and washes away as much of her makeup as she can as he crowds in close to her under the water. Natasha rinses the soap away and watches as Clint, taller than the showerhead, ducks under it and then shakes the water free.

“Stop that,” she laughs, slapping him gently with the washcloth, “Wash me and I’ll think about letting you come inside me again.”

“ _Fuck, Tasha,”_ he moans and takes the cloth from her, lathering it back up. 

Clint starts with her neck, making a pained sound as he fits his fingers over the matching bruises that are developing against her creamy white skin. 

Natasha covers his hands, “It’s okay, Clint.”

“I’m sorry.”

She takes his hand and lets the water sluice away the suds before kissing each fingertip and then his palm, “I forgive you.”

Clint tangles his finger in her wet hair and tilts her head back for a searing kiss, breaking it when Natasha moans. He smooths her hair back down and she says, “I’m sorry, too.”

He looks troubled, then takes a breath and when he says, “I forgive you,” it’s like a weight lifts from both of them, and this time their kiss is almost playful.

Clint nips at Natasha’s bottom lip before pulling away, “Let me get your back?”

She turns and leans into his warm soapy hands until Clint hits a particularly tender patch and Natasha’s so relaxed and it’s so unexpected that she yelps.

“Tasha?” Clint’s voice is laced with worry.

“Sore spot. From the wall.”

He gives a little whimper then kisses the spot, along with her other bruises as he washes her, from the fingerprints on Natasha’s hips to the forming bruises on her thighs and arms, until he gets to the hickey he placed at the base of her thumb, which Clint bites at and then laves with his tongue before giving it a long, sucking kiss.

Clint washes her breasts, wiping clear the sticky remains of the lube and bending over to suck on each of her nipples. He kisses the mark he left at the top of her breast then strokes down her stomach and rinses the washcloth clear of soap before bringing it between her legs and washing her gently.

“Can I make you come again?”

She licks the water from her lips, Natasha isn’t sure how many more she has in her and she wants at least one more with him inside her.

“Not yet,” Natasha says and draws his head down to kiss away his disappointed pout.

“Wash my hair.” she says, handing Clint the small bottle of hotel shampoo. 

It has a pleasantly faint scent of citrus and it reminds Natasha of the oranges she used to get as a reward when she was a child and had done something to particularly impress her handlers, one of the few bright spots in her memories.

Clint finds all the right places to rub as he lathers up her hair, spending long minutes massaging her head before tilting it back under the water and rinsing her clean, then repeating it all with the conditioner.

When he’s done Natasha says, “My turn.”

She takes her time washing Clint, stroking over each of his well defined muscles, pushing into the bruises and marks she’s placed on his body, finding a few scattered knots of tension and kneading them until the muscle releases. 

He’s breath catches when Natasha slips the washcloth between his ass cheeks and cleans his hole, Clint flushes all over when she tells him, “Some day soon I’m going to fuck your ass with my strap on and I won’t stop until you come from my cock in your ass.”

Clint shivers and bites his lip and there’s a mixture of fear and anticipation in his, “Okay.”

He’s stayed hard this entire time but his cock curves up to touch his stomach as he says it. 

Natasha strokes his cock and he moans, the moan turning into a whimper when she says, “I want to come around your cock one last time.”

“ _Fuck._ How do you want me?”

“Pick me up and fuck me against the tile.”

Clint palms her ass and urges her up until her legs are wrapped around him; he shifts them until her back is against the slick tile, warm from where the water has been hitting it, it feels good against Natasha’s bruises.

He keeps one hand holding her ass and brings the other between her legs, slipping two fingers inside her with ease and she moans, “Your cock. I want to come on your cock, Clint.”

He brings his fingers up between them and licks them, she joins him, kissing him around his fingers until she can suck his fingers into her mouth and he moans, “God, your _mouth.”_

She nips at his fingertips, “Fuck me now.”

He moans again, deeper and reaches between them, teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock, “Say it.”

She buries her eyes in his neck and whispers, “This is real.”

“Louder,” he says, giving her the tip of his cock and then pulling it away.

“This is real,” barely audible over the sound of the water.

“Louder.”

He continues to give her just the tip of him and it’s too much tease and too little Clint and she leans back to look him in the eyes as she tells him, “This is r- _real,”_ she calls out as he fills her perfectly, “Please, Clint, please, this is real, I’m real, please.”

“I’ve got you, I’m yours, Tasha, I’m yours,” 

His fingers find her clit again and she moans, “Clint, Clint, I’m going to come, I’m going to come.”

“Then come for me, Tash, come for me— fuck!” He cries, fucking her through her orgasm until she’s hanging weakly in his arms, her legs loose around his hips, held in pace by her crossed ankles. 

Clint’s strokes slow, becoming languid, smooth and liquid and she rests her head on his shoulder with a soft, “Hmm; feels good.”

He presses his cheek to the top of her head as he continues to rock inside her, “Feels incredible. I’ve never felt anything like this, Tasha. I wish I could stay inside of you forever.”

She leans back and places his hand over her heart, “I think, oh,” she breaks off for a moment, eyes closing as she’s unable to think of anything but how exquisite this feels; she opens her eyes and looks into his, full of all the things Natasha wishes she could say, “I think you will.”

“ _Tasha,”_ he whispers like a prayer as he comes inside of her. 

Clint holds her up against the warm wet tile as he catches his breath, softening inside her cunt, not her heart, 

“Can I eat you out again?”

“Okay, but stay away from my clit.”

He nods and sinks to his knees, Natasha balances against the shower wall as he lifts one of her legs up to rest on his shoulder and his mouth is gentle in her as Clint licks away their mingled essences, water pouring all around them, rinsing them clean. 

Clint’s mouth stills and for several long seconds he just breathes her in, until Natasha tugs on one of his soaked curls, “Let me wash your hair.”

He sighs and lets her leg down, staying on his knees as the water patters against his back. She gently works the shampoo into a lather, scratching her nails against his scalp, taking the time to run them down to his neck, tracing her marks with her fingers until he shivers. Natasha has Clint tilt his head back under the spray and she slowly rinses away the suds until she brings the side of his face to rest against her skin. 

“Come on, sunshine,” she says, turning off the water, hearing it drip in the steam filled room, “Let’s get dry and go back to bed; I’ve never slept next to someone I trust, I’m looking forward to him.”

Clint doesn’t say anything, just nods, and when she looks down at him Natasha can see his eyes are blown wide, just a thin ring of blue around an ocean of black.

“Oh, look at you, aren’t you pretty,” she says and slowly draws him to his feet. 

He’s passive as she towels them both dry, pressing into her hands, her skin; letting Natasha do all the work, giving her all the control and she’s not sure which of them needs this more. 

Natasha clears the shredded remains of the sheet out of the way and grabs the soft white duvet, pulling Clint down into the mountain of pillows with her and letting him settle around her, her head on his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heat, their legs tangled together. 

She reaches up and runs her fingers through his damp hair, using her nails the way that makes him practically purr and she takes a handful and tilts his head down for a chaste kiss before bringing it back down to the pillows. 

She tells Clint how she came here, to this room to his arms.

It hadn’t been any one thing, no flash of understanding that told Natasha she needed to break free. 

It was a culmination of everything. 

She leaves nothing out, telling him of the young daughter of an enemy given over to Petrovich to be trained by the Red Room, how the girl's eyes had gone from sparkling with a joy and love only capable of a child, to hurt and terrified, to as cold and empty as a Siberian winter. Of a Brazilian night where the streets ran with blood. Of a fire with flames as red as her hair consuming a hospital and the nearly one thousand souls extinguished by a single match. 

And Clint listens, soft sounds of pain and a tightening of his arms, but otherwise just there, there for her, for her story. 

His arms are warm and shut around her and he whispers, “You don’t have to run anymore. Not from them. Not from yourself. You’ll see, SHIELD—

“If it comes down to me or them—”

“It won’t. I won’t let it.”

“Okay. I— okay. You’re mine now. My Hawk. I won’t— I can’t share you with anyone else.”

“You never will. You will always come first, Tasha, I promise,” Clint says as he gentles her with his strong, warm, capable hands.

For the first time in her life she feels fully and completely free.

More than free. 

Safe. 

“Mine,” she whispers into his skin as she feels herself drift off to sleep, and the last word she hears is Clint's voice, soft and steady, and _real_ , “Yours.”


End file.
